


I will take good care of you

by Waistcoat35



Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [15]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Richard is a sweetheart even when he's ill bless him, Sickfic, is this the 200th barellis fic in the tag? I think it might be!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: “I made your favourite.”
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772770
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	I will take good care of you

Thomas doesn't knock before entering the room, more reluctant to wake Richard than to walk in on him. (Not that either of them has ever much objected to that, either.) Richard is where Thomas had left him an hour or so earlier, a morose bundle of blankets curled up on the bed. He'll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't overheat, but he's been making the saddest noises whenever Thomas tries to pry the duvet away, so he's left it for now because he's generally completely unable to resist the many charms of Richard Ellis. 

Richard is half-awake anyway, it seems, because he shuffles a little bit when Thomas sets the tray down on the floor, turns his head enough that Thomas can see one eye cracked half-open. "Th'm's?" He murmurs, the vowels managing to wander off into the woods somewhere along the way. 

"Just me," he confirms, kneeling down to push Richard's hair back from his forehead. As nice as it is to see his natural curls, it's also a sign of how under the weather Richard's feeling - he fusses with his hair to no end, will sulk for ages if he can't get hold of any Brilliantine, so to see it unkempt in circumstances that don't involve Richard in the late evening, early morning or having just gotten out of the bath (all of which are sights to behold) is unsettling in its irregularity. 

Richard sighs softly and leans into the touch, so Thomas takes the opportunity to turn his hand so the back is pressed to Richard's forehead. Still quite warm, but not dangerously so - if he hasn't managed to get a fever by now then they probably don't need to worry about that. Richard is still looking at him dolefully, so he returns the hand properly to cradle the back of Richard's head, weaves his fingers through the hair there, gently rubs his thumb at the spot a little ways behind Richard's ear. 

"M'ssed you," Richard says - from anyone else it would sound like an admittance, a confession to only be made in this most vulnerable of moments, but he says it in a way that tells Thomas he'd declare it just as freely in any other situation. He chuckles, continuing to give Richard the affection he so clearly craves. 

"I was barely gone an hour - I ought to be flattered." 

Richard does a movement that is possibly meant to be a shake of the head. "Still missed you."

Thomas really can't help but smile, as is often the case these days. "Mm, I missed you too, darling," he divulges, bringing the hand forward to thumb at Richard's cheekbone, which he presses further into. "Did it feel like a long time?" 

"Ages." Richard looks hopeful, as if expecting that this will pull at Thomas' heartstrings enough to win him yet more affection. He does know, surely, that Thomas will gladly give him as much of it as he wants. 

"Well, we'll have to do something about that, then, hm?" And he will, in a minute, but first he returns his attention to the tray. He's brought several glasses of water - Richard's exceedingly clingy when he's like this, and as much as Thomas loves it it does make it harder when he needs to go and fetch things for Richard, and he has a feeling that he won't be allowed to leave for a while now that he's finally back, so he's come prepared. He picks one up and helps Richard prop himself up to drink it - he drains the lot fairly quickly, which must be a fairly good sign. He decides to try for the next step. 

"Do you fancy eating something, love?" (Richard uses such endearments more widely, more freely, but sometimes Thomas is overflowing with the feeling inside him to the point where he can't not express his adoration through more than actions." Richard bites his lip, considering, and eventually shakes his head - but not as vehemently as before, which means that the nausea must have faded rather a lot. This calls for special tactics, then. He won't bully Richard into eating if he really doesn't want to, but at this point it looks more like a case of illness-induced reluctance than actual inability to keep anything down, so he might as well try to persuade him. 

"Really? I made your favourite." Richard squints at him in confusion before the penny drops. 

"But that's-" 

"Chicken and ginger soup. I'm well aware." He hopes he doesn't come off as being too smug, too pleased with himself, and then decides that he doesn't actually care - he's too proud of his efforts. Richard's mother had divulged the information when they'd gone over for dinner some months ago, and it seemed ideal to try and give to Richard now. 

"But how...?" Richard is incredulous, and it prompts Thomas to tease him a bit.

"I'd have thought you'd know, having grown up with it, but here's the secret - you stick some water in your pan, and you put it on boil, and you get your chicken-" 

_"Thomas_ ," Richard half-whines, "you know that's not what I meant, you _sod_." Thomas grins. There he is. 

"I made it. That's how." He sees Richard's disbelieving look. "Well, thank you for your faith in me," he says, keeping his tone light - he knows he can be tetchy about a great many things, but not this. Richard worries enough about what to say to make him feel comfortable, make him feel safe, and Thomas doesn't want him to worry about it too much - especially not now. 

"But - it must've taken you _ages_." It had, as well. Ages, a lot of muffled swearing (Richard's elderly neighbour doesn't seem to care about the language- hasn't before, anyway - but she listens to a programme on the wireless from five to seven, and woe betide them if they make any loud noises and interrupt it. They've learned by now.) and an emergency phone call back to the house, which Daisy had picked up straight away, thank God, until eventually the end result seemed edible and, in fact, rather good.

"A little while. I didn't mind."

"Is that what you've been doing?" 

"For a bit, yes." 

"But - you didn't _have_ to." Richard still sounds disbelieving, and he wonders how often someone outside of his family has done something nice for Richard, something material, that takes effort, without expecting anything in return. Based on his reaction, nowhere near often enough - he'll have to fix that, over time. 

He smooths Richard's hair down again, feeling oddly protective. "I wanted to, darling." Then he has a lap full of him - Richard's managed to wind his arms around Thomas' waist and clutch at him tightly, his face buried in Thomas' lap. 

"Y'r so _nice_ ," he says, muffled. "Y'r so nice to me. Thank you." 

Thomas runs a hand down his back, over and over, the pressure hopefully reassuring. "You're nice to me all the time too, darling. You deserve it." He really does, doesn't he, Thomas thinks, and he decides that from now on he's going to do things for him as much as humanly possible, if this is how it makes Richard feel.

True to Thomas' predictions, once he's had his soup (which is practically wolfed down, so he'll count that as a success he can be proud of) Richard twines himself around Thomas as much as possible again, rubs his face against Thomas' jumper-clad chest like a cat. (It's a rather fetching blue turtleneck, a christmas gift from the Ellis family.) Thomas holds him in equal measure, gets under the covers properly to keep Richard safe and wait things out. He'll be alright, and so will they, together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look, cream of chicken soup is Satan's actual piss but chicken and ginger soup is heaven in a bowl that's it the end


End file.
